Quinn the Psychopath
by Sacred Dust
Summary: Quinn peered warily over the edge of the book. "You really shouldn't poke fun at me, Daria. It might be dangerous. I'm a psychopath, you know." "Uh-huh," Daria reached into the fridge, failing to find anything more appetizing than day-old lasagna. A moment later, her sister's words clicked and she looked up. "Wait. What?"
1. So You Think You're Crazy

**_A/N: There's a guy on the PPMB named Thanatos who has argued that Quinn is a Ferris Bueller-style psychopath. I disagree, but it gave me a funny idea for a story._**

Daria came down the stairs late one night and saw her vapid sister in the kitchen. Just her luck. She was slumped on a stool at the counter, fearfully paging through a large book entitled _So You Think You're Crazy._  
"Here's a tip," Daria deadpanned. "The pictures just illustrate the _words,_ not the other way around."  
Quinn peered warily over the edge of the book. "You really shouldn't poke fun at me, Daria. It might be dangerous. I'm a psychopath, you know."

"Uh-huh," Daria reached into the fridge, failing to find anything more appetizing than day-old lasagna. A moment later, her sister's words clicked and she looked up. "Wait. What?"  
"Didn't you hear what I said? God, I'm so psycho I don't know what to do with myself."  
Daria blinked, trying and failing to process this. "Um…"  
"I'm popular and charming, right? I date a lot of guys and tell them what they want to hear, right? People say I'm not responsible, right? Come ON, Daria, you're a brain. You should get this."  
"Quinn."  
"I wonder what kind of clothes are in for crazy people this season! Well, not that _you_ would know…"  
Daria raised her voice. "Quinn! Who said you were a psychopath?"  
The fashion princess shrugged and kept leafing through the book, obviously absorbing none of what was written there. "I don't know! Some guy. He was a brain, but he was actually okay-looking. And really judgmental, sort of like David, so I figured he knew what he was talking about."  
"Well, you're wrong. As usual." Daria settled for the milk.  
"But he _said,"_ Quinn protested. "And it feels so cool! Maybe I should start wearing black again. Who do you think my first victim should be? It really should be Brooke. God, you would not believe the top she showed up in yesterday…"

Daria slammed the full milk jug onto the kitchen counter. "Quinn. I'm going to put this in words even you can understand. Why did you try to tell Lindy she had a drinking problem?"  
She blinked in surprise. "Well, 'cause she's my friend and stuff! Or was my friend…"  
"Exactly. So you want to help people when they're in trouble and you feel bad when they get hurt?"  
Quinn rolled her eyes. "Well, DUH."  
"Do you lie even when you have nothing to gain from it? Would you describe yourself as fearless or a rebel?"  
"Of course not, that's just silly! And have you seen how social rebels have to dress? Sandi would laugh me out of the school!"  
"Were you anything like Brian Taylor as a child?"  
"Those poor cats…"  
"Do you sleep around?"  
Quinn recoiled. "EEE-yewwwwww!"  
"Then you're not a psychopath."  
"Oh NO!" Quinn cried, putting her face in her hands. "Then what am I?!"  
"Shallow, clueless, and very annoying. But you're not psychopathic. He only told you that because he doesn't like you. If he's convinced himself of it, fine, but we don't need to play along. That's the advantage of having a brain. Not being one—having one. So use yours for a change. And anytime you need to be reminded of who you are, knock on my door and you'll get an earful. Now good night."  
Daria chugged unceremoniously from the jug and put it back in the fridge before going up to bed, hoping this was all she would hear of the matter.


	2. Psycho-tinued

"Hmmmm."  
Daria frowned in her sleep and shifted under the covers.  
"Hmmmm...no, that angle is just so wrong."  
Extra weight on the bed. Annoying, all-too-familiar voice. Piercing through good dream about Trent. Dammit.  
"This way? Ugh! No, then I'd have to do it like ten times. What a mess."  
Daria's eyelids fluttered open to see her sister in her room, crouched over her on the bed, holding an enormous pair of fabric shears with a frustrated look on her face. "Dammit! I just can't figure out the _cute_ way to do this."

_"Aaaahhhhh!"_ Daria thrashed around in panic, knocking her late-night visitor to the floor. "Quinn, what the hell are you doing?!"  
"Come on, Daria, I _have_ to kill someone!" Quinn glared and brushed herself off. "If you were as cute and as crazy as me, you'd understand!"  
Daria fumbled for her glasses. "Quinn, I will never dispute the idea that there is something wrong with you. But you're not a damn psychopath, and we both know you're not going to kill anyone here."  
"Tell me about it! These things are like WAY too big." Quinn threw the shears aside in disgust. "I looked at the knives in the kitchen but they were really gray-ish, and blood red only goes with that really shiny silver. And I thought of suffocating you with your pillow but that thing hasn't been washed in ages. Ick. I mean, we have rat poison but I just can't get past the word 'rat'..."  
"I rest my case." Daria sighed.  
"I'm such a failure," Quinn sat down on the edge of the bed. "Who knew that being a psycho killer would be so hard?!"  
"For someone who freaked out when Dad ran over one animal on the road? I could have guessed."  
Quinn nodded. "I guess the non-cute animals _do_ count."  
"Gee, thanks. Now get out of my room and go to sleep. We'll talk about this later."  
"Fine," Quinn snapped, flouncing angrily out the door. "But I hope you know you're unleashing a 'herbicidal' maniac on the world!"  
SLAM.  
The airhead stomped back down the hallway. She couldn't give up this easily. She was determined to prove her insanity-or at least look hot trying.


	3. All Aboard the Crazy Train

"Um, is Quinn coming or what?" Sandi tapped her foot impatiently. "This is an A.M. sale. Or was she not informed of that?"  
Stacy shrank from the Fashion Club president's suspicious look. "Eep! No, Sandi, I swear I told her!"  
"She saaaaid she forgot her scrunchiiiiie," Tiffany said.  
"And how long ago was that?"  
"Niiiiine minuuuutes..."  
Sandi cracked her knuckles. "That's it, I'm going up." She stalked back up the stairs to her bedroom.  
"...Aaaaand...thirty...four...seconnnnnds." Tiffany finished. She looked up to see her friend was already gone. "Huh?"

"Ka-WIN. Did you, like die up here or something?" Sandi shouted through her door. Come to think of it, why was it closed in the first place? She growled, turned the knob and marched in. "I hope you realize you are going to make us late for-AAAAAHHHHHH!"  
The femme fatale stood petrified at the sight of her bedroom walls covered in large blood-red cursive writing, the words "ME = CRAZY" repeated over and over with many hearts and smiley faces thrown in.  
"Oh, hi Sandi!" Quinn chirped. She was in the process of finishing up the fourth wall. "Sorry I took so long. This would have gone much smoother if you didn't buy bargain lipstick." She gestured to the several empty tubes that now littered the carpet.  
"Exc-YUSE me?" I do NOT buy bargain-" Sandi stopped herself. "I mean, what did you do to my room?!"  
"GEE Sandi, what do you think?" Quinn giggled. "This is what crazy people do. They, like, draw all over walls and stuff. Doesn't this color go great with your periwinkle wallpaper?"  
"I...you...uh..." the girl was momentarily speechless. "What do you mean, crazy people?"  
Quinn gasped. "Oh my gosh, I forgot to tell you! Well, I'm a psychopath now. Don't feel bad, it was a big surprise to me too! I just found out like yesterday. Maybe drawing on walls is more of a 'schizomatic' thing, but I'm still learning and stuff."

There were footsteps on the stairs. Stacy was the first to appear in the doorway. "Is everything okay? I thought I heard..." Upon seeing the room, she fell over in a dead faint.  
Tiffany came up behind her and smiled. "Wowwww. This looks even better than my rooooom."  
"Thanks, Tiffany!"  
"Oh my God, this can not be happening...Sandi groaned.  
Quinn sighed. "I'm really sorry about this, Sandi. But I had to do it! Psychopaths can be really impulsive and they don't feel bad for other people no matter how cute they are. They just kind of do whatever they want without caring what anybody says, and they get away with it 'cause they always plan ahead and stuff." She froze momentarily. "Wait, do cherry red and periwinkle blue still go together this month? Oh NO! Color crisis! I have to go look at _Waif!"_  
She bolted past Sandi and Tiffany to the coffee table downstairs.  
"You knooooow," Tiffany remarked after a long silence. "I heard crazyyyyy is reeeeally in this month."  
Sandi finally picked her jaw up off the floor and glared. If her best friend was going to fake insanity and ruin her wallpaper, the Fashion Club might as well milk this trend for as much attention as they could...


	4. For SCIENCE

"Attention students," Principal Li announced at the next day's school assembly. "I know we are all excited to begin another morning here at..._Lawndale High."_  
"I think I'm already in mourning," Daria said to Jane.  
"And now, please welcome our ambassadors of alpaca," Li chortled, "The Fashion Club, as they make a special announcement."  
There was muted applause as the four girls strode confidently onstage. Ms. Li grudgingly gave up the podium.  
"Thank you," Sandi said with faux-sincerity. "We, the Fashion Club, would like to remind all our fans and admirers here..."  
"Not to put their lunch up their noses?" Jane finished.  
"...That as trendsetters and role models for all students, we were greatly looking forward to our obligatory role in the Lawndale High Community Involvement Project beginning next week," Sandi lied. "However, we regret to announce that we must withdraw from the project due to some...um..._challenges_ now being dealt with by our club Vice President, Quinn Morgendorffer."  
Quinn eagerly leaned in front of her to reach the microphone. "I'm a psychopath now!"  
The sound of Daria slapping her own forehead could be heard throughout the auditorium.  
"The school psychologist still has to run a diagnostic or whatever, but lately I've really been going mental and stuff. So don't mind me if I do anything strange! My head may be a little funny, but it's not like I'm a brain. And remember, you too can overcome your mental problems if you look your best from the outside in. Thanks!"  
Much louder applause erupted in the room.  
"Daria? Do you know anything about this?" Jane asked.  
"Too much, Jane. Too much."

Ms. Barch walked into the science lab after lunch that day to get ready for the next lesson. As she rummaged grumpily around in her desk, arranging papers and wondering which MALE students she would target today, something distracted her.  
She heard noises from the storage room. Whimpering. Crying. The sounds of animals in pain. And underneath it all, a girl's mocking laughter...  
The science teacher's pace quickened to match her heartbeat. Something was wrong. She had to get to that room.  
She broke into a run and burst through the door. "What in the name of Goddess is going on in here?!"  
Quinn stood completely still, facing the wall where all the cages were. Now she slowly turned around, gesturing to the gruesome scene with a strange look on her face.

"What do you think, Ms. Barch?" asked Quinn. "I'm torturing them. Psychopaths don't feel anything for others and some of them torture small animals when they're young. Didn't you know that?"  
"What? T...torturing?!" Barch took a shaky step forward and switched on the light.  
"Well, DUH," Quinn said impatiently. "Just look at the outfits I made them wear!"  
Clothes. All the animals were dressed in their own little clothes, none matching and all highly unfashionable, huddled in their cages and mewling for help.  
Quinn sighed. "You have NO idea how hard it is to put a turtleneck on a real turtle. But I did it for science."  
Barch screamed.


	5. Manson Meets Her Match

It wasn't every day that a former waitress who hadn't even finished her Ph.D. could get hired to a position at a public high school.  
Sometimes, Margaret Manson wished it hadn't been her day. It took a great student of the mind, so to speak, to navigate the turbulent emotional seas of the average teenage psyche. She was in over her head from day one.  
But this appointment should be very simple, she thought as she strode confidently down the back hallway to her office. Manson tested Quinn Morgendorffer personally on her first day at school, and had no intention of admitting now that she had allowed a self-proclaimed 'psychopath' into Lawndale High. Her own lingering self-doubt and recurring nightmares about the students turning into bloodsucking bats were bad enough. If she lost her professional credibility on top of it all, she was finished.  
She gathered her papers under one arm and opened the office door.

The popularity princess was already there.  
She sat quietly at the round gray table, resting her chin on her hands, only very slowly looking up to acknowledge the school psychologist's presence.  
"Well, I see you're right on time," Manson remarked.  
"You're not."  
The brunette scowled and sat down, determined to take control of the situation. "Well, I'll cut to the chase, Quinn. This is all rather hard to believe. You took my test on your first day just like all the others. I examined the results thoroughly and your answers at the time seemed quite genuine. So the question is, if you truly believe you have psychopathic tendencies, why wait until now to..." She trailed off as Quinn fixed her with an expectant look and placed a sheet of paper in front of her. "...What's this?"  
"That's our standardized personality test, Marge," Quinn said primly, misspeaking her first name. "Principal Li likes for all the students to take them."  
Manson blinked again. She noticed that Quinn had done her hair up in a tight bun and donned a pair of silvery, most likely superfluous glasses. To say nothing of the checkered pink mid-sleeve jacket and pale red capris the girl was wearing.  
Something was decidedly amiss here.  
"But before you fill that out, let's start with a simple picture test, mmmkay?" Quinn continued authoritatively. She held up a printout of male and female silhouettes talking to each other.

Manson cleared her throat loudly. "May I ask what you're doing, Quinn?"  
Quinn smiled pleasantly. "I would prefer that you call me Miss Morgendorffer, Maggie. We won't have to get to know each other very well today-just enough to spot any storm clouds on the horizon as we navigate the seas of Lawndale High. And if there are any it's best to clear them away now, don't you think? Because wearing gray all the time is SO not okay."  
_She's talking just like me,_ Manson thought. _Well, almost._  
"Now as you can see, this is a picture of two people talking. Why don't you use your imagination and tell me what they're discussing?" 'Miss Morgendorffer' held up the paper and smiled.  
Manson didn't look at it. "All right, Quinn, I think we've had our fun here. Can we get this appointment started now, please?"  
Quinn stared back at her without flinching. "I'm quite ready anytime you are, Margot."  
"_Margaret._ And this is your pscyhological appointment, not mine."  
"That's where you're wrong, ma'am. I've already had mine, and now it's your turn. If you couldn't spot such a clear case of psychopathy then, why go through the lotions now?"  
"I think you mean 'the motions'."  
"That's what I said," Quinn answered smoothly. "I've looked into your records a little to help prepare for your session...so, you couldn't be a real psychologist, huh?"

That brought Manson up short. "Quinn, this really is highly inappropriate. I am fully qualified to-"  
"Oh? So your silly one-page test is a real psychological tool? Because I don't think it tells anything about who someone really is. And how can you ever be sure? Like sometimes you meet a girl who seems cute and totally with it, but then you find out she owns ten pairs of stretch pants. Not that _I_ own any stretch pants. But you get what I'm saying, right?"  
"Um..."  
"Great! And since you're not really educated enough to tell who a person is for yourself, it's a lot easier on both of us if you just take my word for it. Especially if that person is very popular and gets along with Ms. Li much better than you do. I don't recommend special ed classes for this case-just try to bear with it. There are plenty of psychopaths out there and some of them become very active, constructive members of society. Oh, and please try to do _something_ about your hair."  
Manson gaped as Quinn hopped up and strode merrily out the office door. It clanged shut a moment later.  
Confused and rattled, she glanced down again at the test form Quinn gave her-and saw that all the questions had been replaced with variations of "am I cute?"  
_Am I cute?  
How cute am I?  
Would I look cute in this?  
How much less cute would you say Sandi is than me, a lot or a whole lot?  
Draw the animal that best represents how cute I am..._

Manson groaned and put her head in her hands. It was going to be a long semester.


	6. Taking Over the Asylum

_**Taking Over the Asylum**_

Quinn and the rest of the Fashion Club girls giggled and gossiped their way through the lunch line and over to their registered table, just like they always did.  
Daria peeked out from behind a pillar, watching them. This wasn't her lunch period, but sacrifices had to be made here. Besides, the other kids were staring at her a lot today for some reason. She'd already checked her face in the mirror for any recent disfigurations, but came up empty.  
"Just remember Ka-WINN," Sandi warned. "If you mess this up and we happen to lose our excuse for getting out of that community project...it may have long-term consequences for our popularity. Especially yours. And I would just _hate_ for that to happen."  
"Oh SANDI," Quinn giggled, placating her paranoia as well as ever. "You know that's not why I'm doing this. And besides, psychopaths are _always_ popular. They're masters of meditation!"  
_That's 'manipulation', you ditz._  
Daria watched harder. In fact, she was crumpling her empty milk carton.

Something had to be done about this, she decided. Quinn's plan had been ridiculously successful. Now she was more popular than ever. Boys offered to carry her books so she didn't "flip out or something. Even though that'd be really cool." All the girls except Sandi agreed with everything she said. The teachers treated her like she was made of glass, never a wrong word-or a wrong grade, for that matter. And the Fashion Club had practically taken over the school.  
Not only was Quinn upsetting the natural order by making (fake) mental illness popular, she was getting all the benefits of being "special" with none of the downsides.  
The more Daria saw, the more certain she was that the only solution would be voluntarily talking to her sister. But once again...sacrifices.  
The ironic thing was that if this was some cynical plan by Quinn to manipulate public sympathies, it would be evidence of _actual_ psychopathy-but that seemed to be more Sandi's idea. And as usual, Quinn's saving grace was her lack of awareness. Her ideas were silly and often frivolous, but it was her charisma that made many of them work, and that was what Quinn didn't realize: the effect she could have on people. If Daria had a nickel for every time her sister's personal appeal had gotten her into _and_ out of a weird situation, with her standing there oblivious all the while...  
She stepped out of the cafeteria unnoticed. She must formulate a plan. She must knock Quinn off her ever-rising pedestal. She must...

She was nearly knocked off her feet by a roar of applause.  
People. People everywhere, standing around her, smiling and waving.  
"Hey, you're Daria!"  
"You're that crazy antisocial chick who lives with Quinn!"  
"You RULE!"  
"Will you go out with me?!"  
Two of them stepped forward as Daria stared like a deer in headlights.  
"Sorry I thought you were a loser," said track star Evan Mrozinski.  
"Will you come to my party on Friday?" Tori Jenkins the popularity stock-ticker asked, thrusting a glittery invitation into her hand.  
Daria knew only one way to deal with this sudden onslaught of attention. She ran.

She finally got away from them by slipping into the utility hallway, nearly colliding with Jane in the process.  
"Jane. You too?"  
Jane looked relieved to see her. "Me too. God, they won't leave me alone. It's like an episode of _The Twilight Zone_. When did being 'that crazy painter chick' turn into a good thing?"  
Daria frowned. "Since Quinn made faux-insanity the new black. I just got invited to a party by Tori Jenkins and that Evan guy from the track team."  
"Oh, him," Jane said sourly. "...Are you gonna go?"  
"I don't know. They said you could come too."  
Jane shook her head. "Daria, I really hate to say it...but I think we're becoming _popular."_  
"It's official. The apocalypse has begun."  
"How do we stop it?"  
Daria stared at the invitation and thought...


	7. Quarantine

_**Quarantine**_

It was all so simple, at least the way Daria and Jane had planned it. It was also desperate, but such were the times.  
Daria knew she would have to fight hard to stem the tide of Quinn's relentless quest for even more popularity (even if Quinn herself didn't see it as such). She illustrated her strategy with some of the hideous clay models they had made for a school project years ago.  
"I have no illusions about my ability to withstand a pitched battle against Quinn's popularity," Daria had said, pointing to the biggest figure (Quinn). "My only chance is to fight a war of attrition. By fighting smarter and starving Quinn of her resources, I can break her and force her to recant this absurd phase before it destroys Lawndale High as we know it."  
Jane squinted. "...And that would be a bad thing?"  
"In this case, yes. People are noticing us. The teachers aren't screwing us over anymore. Guys are asking for our numbers. And that simply cannot be."  
Jane frowned slightly and looked down, seeing her point but not quite ready to agree...

As Daria explained, Quinn's primary resources were money, clothes, makeup and magazines. With their parents out of town at a business dinner hosted by Helen's firm, she had the perfect opportunity to take them all away and starve her out.  
**STEP 1**  
"Hello, Quinn."  
"Hi, fellow crazy person!" Quinn giggled.  
"Hello. Now that we can finally understand each other...about that allowance Mom and Dad just gave you. Exactly how much of it would you give up to keep them from finding out you went to that rave party?"  
"It was HIS idea! I waited outside in the car! Then I had to call a cab when he didn't come back..."  
"Guilt by association, sis."  
That took care of the money.  
**STEP 2**  
Daria snuck quietly into the forbidden territory that was Quinn's room and took a quick inventory. She had always known of her sister's tendency to excess, but never until now had she grasped just how much makeup and how many articles of clothing she possessed. And her back issues of _Waif_ could wallpaper the entire house with pages left over.  
As Trent would say: "Alternate plan."  
**STEPS 2-4**  
"Hey, Quinn. I think you dropped a half-empty lipstick tube in my room."  
"Oh NO!" Quinn frantically ran up the stairs to find it.  
SLAM. _Click._ Daria pocketed the key.  
The previous owners kept their crazed aunt in here. Of _course_ the room locked from the outside.

"Hey! What are you doing? Dariaaaaa! Stop kidding around, it's SO gross in here!"  
"Gee. I'd really like to want to help you, Quinn," she snarked through the door. "But promising to end all this 'psychopath' nonsense would be a step in the right direction."  
"But I AM crazy!" Quinn whined. "And Sandi would kill me!"  
"Then enjoy your padded room. You'll be seeing a lot of it tonight."  
"Help! Help!"  
Daria smirked. "And enjoy your lack of clothing, putrid literature about clothing, or the makeup necessary to accentuate said clothing. I'll be back to check on you later. Sis."


	8. Outsnarked

_**Outsnarked**_

There wasn't much to do in the meantime. Daria paced around and read some of The Brothers Karamazov until Jane came over for backup. A thunderstorm was brewing by the time she drove up.  
"Gees, it's blacker than Val's soul out there," Jane remarked. "And your parents won't be back until morning? Maybe we should've done this at my house."  
"Too risky. Who knows which of your relatives might show up out of the blue and distract us from our duty?"  
The artist raised an eyebrow. "And if you mistook them for prison breakers and shot them, what kind of a warden would that make you?"  
"Too good to keep my job."  
"Agreed."  
They watched the Sick Sad World marathon for a while. The phone rang a few times. It was always some guy from school asking Daria out _"'cause crazy chicks are cute now, you know?"_ She shot them down in flames.  
"Okay," Daria said after the episode about the black metal band of former nuns. "I think that's long enough."  
A decisive clap of thunder sounded, as if Mother Nature agreed with her. That would be a first, Daria thought.  
They walked upstairs to her door and knocked. No answer.  
Daria sighed and pulled out her key. "Stand back."  
"I wonder if she cried so much she dehydrated herself and can't talk."  
"Come on, stop trying to cheer me up."  
Jane smiled. "Or what about that other show we saw? Where no TV and no beer made that guy go cr-"  
"Jane. I do not want to hear the word 'crazy' ever again. Now get ready." She turned the key. "We're back, Quinn. Are you ready to stop faking insanity? Or, should I say, any kind of psychological depth?"

The door swung open, but not nearly as wide as the two girls' mouths.  
Quinn peered at them suspiciously over the top of her glasses. Her knee-length black skirt appeared freshly ironed. Her black boots had been polished until they shone. Somehow she'd managed to make her green jacket fit even better than its original owner.  
"Okay, I'll sign." she said. Her voice was flat and far less enthusiastic than usual.  
"Um...sign what?" Jane asked faintly.  
"You know, your petition for alternative lifestyles and junk. Where's the pen?"  
Daria was having trouble processing current events. "Uh...you...th-that's..."  
"Pretty good, huh Daria?" Quinn gloated in her normal voice. "It felt good, too. No wonder you put people down all the time! 'Cause then you don't have to think about your own problems. I think this could really help me deal with my psychopathy! Oh, and thanks for giving me your room. You're right, it does fit me a lot better than my old one! I mean, the decor needs some work, but-"  
"You are NOT staying here." Daria glared, clenching her fists.  
"Psychopaths don't like being confined, Daria. They also don't like it when people offer to help them but then go back on it."  
"I never offered you my room! OR my clothes! I locked you in here because-"  
"Sure you did! Unless you want Mom and Dad to know that you kidnapped and blackmailed me. But that would be a long, complicated process that would inconvenience both of us. Well, you, anyway." Quinn replied with a sinister smile.  
Daria dug in her pocket. "Look, I'll give you back the damn money. I'll-Quinn!"  
The door was closing. "Sorry. I don't know any Quinn," Quinn said in her 'Daria' voice. "I'm an only child."  
"GET OUT OF-"  
SLAM.

Thunder rumbled through the house as a warm rain pelted the windows.  
Daria and Jane were left to ponder their situation.  
"...At least she didn't write on your walls," Jane said. "Yet."  
"Shut up," Daria muttered, breathing hard. Her face was still red with rage. "DAMN her."  
"Now what do we do?"  
Daria didn't reply. She seemed at a loss. After a long silence, she shuffled lifelessly to the other end of the hall, staring balefully into Quinn's empty room...  
"Forget it, Daria," Jane physically pulled her back from the abyss. "You're staying with me. Unless I bring a date over."  
"Thank you. As long as Penny doesn't kick me out of bed in the morning."  
"That sounds wrong in more ways than I can describe. And Penny's not even there right now."  
"That's what I'm afraid of."  
They walked out to Jane's car in silence. They didn't speak again until arriving at the house.  
Jane cleared her throat. "You know...psychopaths _are_ really good at adapting different situations to their own advantage."  
"She's NOT a psychopath! She's a useless idiot who just stole my room!" Daria was almost shouting. She was angrier than Jane had ever seen her.  
"I know! Don't yell at me! I'm just saying..." Jane trailed off. "It's just..."  
"What?"  
"This is getting pretty heavy. Are you sure she's only doing it for attention?"  
Daria shook her head, not ready to think about it. She ran through the deluge and into the house.


	9. Creating a Monster

**_Creating a Monster_**

"Ka-WINN Morgendorffer, as President of the Fashion Ca-lubb, the knowledge that you sheltered in a visually unacceptable location makes me both outraged and ashamed." Sandi Griffin said as the girls made their way to homeroom the next morning.  
"Oh, Sandi," Quinn said in her usual glib manner. "I already told you! When you're as popular as I-we are, you have to stay sharp. It was just for one night, to see if I could survive in a hostile environment."  
"You're so brave, Quinn." Stacy nodded with stars in her eyes.  
"It's inspiriiiiing," Tiffany agreed.  
Sandi silenced both of them with a glare. "But, as I was saying, the increasing popularity of that girl who lives with you has convinced me not to call an emergency meeting in this case. After all, one must always keep an eye on the competition."  
"Thanks, Sandi! But...you don't really think she's competition for ME, right?"  
Sandi's lip twitched cruelly. "Oh, of course not, Quinn. As your best friend, I would _never_ think something like that."  
"But you just said-"  
"Excuse me, Quinn. May I have a word with you?"  
The Club looked up from the usual cat-and-mouse reverie of its leaders to see Mrs. Manson standing before them, wielding a pen and clipboard with an air of determination.

Quinn stifled a groan. Didn't this woman ever give up? Then again, wearing that terrible lab coat 24/7, maybe she already had.  
Sensing Quinn's hesitation, Sandi immediately stepped in. "May we help you, Mrs. Charles-I mean, Mrs. Manson? My apologies."  
The school pseudo-chologist shot her a sour look and found it returned in kind. "As I was saying. Quinn, as your friends here will no doubt remind you, we have very little in common."  
"True." Quinn nodded.  
"Except for one very important thing: you and I both know that you are no psychopath. For example, on the question 'if I disappeared from the face of the earth tomorrow, no one would notice or care, true or false'..." She smugly held up Quinn's test paper, where the answer read _Mrs. Manson, I would care! Cheer up! _  
Quinn raised an eyebrow. "So?"  
"You thought I was referring to myself. You displayed empathy. That's hardly natural for a textbook psychopath, is it?"  
The fashion princess fixed her with an eerie, lingering smile. "I don't read a lot of textbooks, Mrs. Manson."  
"Touche," Manson sighed. "But the point stands, among many others I could bring up. I think it would be best for you and your friends to wrap up whatever game you are playing so that some semblance of order might return to the school, don't you think?"  
Sandi was hard enough on her own friends; when an outside force challenged them, she was venomous. "Thank you, Mrs. Manson. As Lawndale High's last line of defense against complete fashion meltdown, we are always happy to accept lifestyle advice from women wearing white after Labor Day."  
"Now, Sandi-"  
"With _bad dye jobs."_  
Manson's complexion was turning an unsightly shade of red. Foiled again, she could only sputter and glare as the Fashion Club excused itself to class.

While Ms. Barch struggled to proceed with science, constantly distracted and irritated by the model of a male skeleton in the classroom, Sandi took a moment to speak to Quinn.  
"Seeing as the Community Involvement Project ends this weekend, Quinn, I think it might be best to resume...um, hiding your insanity."  
"Sandi, are you kidding?! This is making us more popular than ever!" she whispered. "We practically own the school! No one can stop us. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"  
"Well...um..."  
Her friend sighed and brushed some imaginary lint off her sleeve. "I guess it's just harder for a sane person like you to understand."  
Sandi looked oddly hurt as she leaned back in her chair. She paid no attention to the lesson, but she was deep in thought nonetheless.


	10. Unfashionable Alliance

_**Unfashionable Alliance**_

Nobody told Daria and Jane that Tori Jenson's party had a "psycho" theme.  
Not to worry; they were accepted as if they'd already dressed for it.  
"Omigawd, I just can't get over how well that skirt works!" Tori gushed to Daria upon letting her in. "It's too long, yet it seems way too revealing on someone like you. And wearing LONG sleeves with it? It's exactly what a crazy person would wear. You're a genius!"  
"I'll tell Stephen Hawking to move over." Daria said.  
"I don't know if his chair can move sideways." Jane added.  
"Speaking of handicaps, where's Quinn?"  
Evan pointed over his shoulder. "Talking with the 3 J's in the corner. Long time no see, Jane."  
"Long time no see for a reason, Evan," she assured him.  
"Come on. Just let me talk to you for a few minutes, okay? Then you can leave me in the dust for good." he gave her a crooked smile, instead of the smug one she remembered.  
Jane glanced at Daria, who just shrugged. "Well...all right, but I'm going to hold you to that. Start talking."

Daria tuned them out as Evan attempted to patch things up, and looked across the room at Quinn. As Tori said, she was regaling Joey, Jeffy and Jamie with her 'charming' stories-and, from the looks of it, scaring the daylights out of them in the process.  
"...But if I were going to snap on YOU, Joey, I would definitely use the fire poker. I would go for your head! 'Cause I'd be, like, jealous of sane people and stuff. Only not really, because psychopaths are cool."  
"Um...ha ha...that's great, Quinn." Joey stammered, looking around for the nearest escape route.  
"I'd probably poison _you_, Jamie. But then I would hug you and say your name over and over,so you could die knowing somebody out there remembered it. Isn't that romantic?" Quinn's smile was wider than they'd ever seen. "By the way, can I top off that soda for you?"  
Jamie backed away, his knees practically knocking. "Duh..u-um...n-no, that's okay Q-quinn. I got it!"  
"And Jeffy, I'd guillotine you or something, because Joey once told me you spend a lot of time on your knees!" Quinn said innocently.  
Jeffy spat out his soda and rounded furiously on Joey. "WHAT?!"  
"Um, Jeffy, I didn't mean it! I had way too much to drink that night. Jeffy?" Joey backed out the sliding door into the backyard, followed closely by his enraged friend. The sounds a of fist fight proceeded soon after.  
"That's okay, Jamie. We don't need them. We've got each other!" Quinn took one of his hands in hers. "Hey, come with me and I'll show you how to make Tori's cat say your name! Little Brian Taylor showed me. I can do it myself now!"  
Jamie looked left, then right, and suddenly made a run for the stairs.  
Quinn called after him. "Jamie? Hey, don't start without me! I haven't showed you how yet! Jamie?" She slowly walked after him.

_Okay. I don't care if she gave back my room after one night, this is getting way too bizarre,_ Daria thought. But how could she possibly stop her mega-popular sister? Everyone loved her. The only girls in school who even came close to her were...  
Yes. Of course!  
Daria hated the idea, but it was perfect. If this person couldn't help her, no one could.  
She picked her way around the room, avoiding several guys who asked her to dance, until she spotted her: a fellow brunette, tall and glamorous, with a distinctly predatory appearance.  
It was time to go Quinn-hunting.  
Sandi stood at the other side of the snack table, nibbling on a few pretzels and wincing at the stale soda. Tori could've been more popular if her parents weren't such cheapskates. At least their home was acceptable, though-much better decorated than Brittany's _nouveau-riche_ house of horrors.  
She looked up to see a formerly unpopular, now popular-due-to-insanity girl heading straight for her. It was that girl who lived with Quinn. Brown hair, sour face, obviously dateless with zero style. But her weirdness commanded a measure of respect, and respect was a challenging concept for Sandi, so she just kept her distance. However, that distance was now closing fast.  
She mentally braced herself for a close encounter.  
"Hey." Daria said cautiously.  
"Um...yeah. Hey."  
"So, have you been to one of Quinn's animal-torturing seminars?"  
Sandi rolled her eyes. "She's just pretending, cabana girl. Um, I think."  
Daria paused, like she had another sarcastic remark on the tip of her tongue but knew it would get her nowhere. "What happened to _your_ cat, anyway? The one who got into your makeup?"  
"Oh, you mean Fluffy? He died." She glanced down at the floor.  
Awkward silence.  
"...Sorry."  
"Thanks. I was sad about it. But then I found some other way to feel." Sandi raised her glass slightly.  
Daria smirked. "Glad I could help. So, be honest with me. Are you tired of the insanity trend yet?"  
"Desperately."  
"You and me against Quinn?"  
"Tragic. But necessary."  
"Let's talk."  
Sandi smiled faintly.


	11. Graduated Insanity

_**Graduated Insanity**_

It wasn't hard for Sandi to evade the clutches of the Fashion Club during lunch. Tiffany and Stacy were so distracted by Quinn's faux-crazy antics that they didn't give her weak story a second thought, and in the back of her mind, Sandi knew that sometimes they were happier-though far less productive-without her supervision.  
She looked to the left and right, then rapped gently on the door of the utility closet-one knock, a pause, then two more. It opened and she ducked inside.  
Daria locked the door securely behind her. "Glad you could make it."  
Sandi frowned at their dull and grimy surroundings. "Disgusting. You _would_ pick a place like this."  
"The Sheraton was booked up. Now pay attention. We're here to figure out a way to stop Quinn, and meeting at either of our homes is not an option."  
"Correct. So, like, what's your big plan anyway?"

They paused when they heard heavy footsteps shuffling down the hall, then a duet of all too familiar voices.  
"Aww babe, now I have to clean up DeMartino's classroom! Why is that guy out to get me? I bet he played defense or something."  
"Um, Kevvy, I think it's because you said the Vietnam War happened in Germany," Brittany said reproachfully. "I'll see you next class, okay?"  
Kevin sighed as she walked away (though he didn't miss the chance to watch) and rattled the doorknob. "Hey, what's the deal? This thing's always open."  
There was a click, and the door opened a crack. "Can I help you?" a cynical voice said from the dark.  
Kevin blinked. "Um...I think so. Who are you?"  
"The closet. Now hurry up and tell me what you want. I haven't got all day."  
"Closets can talk?!"  
A slightly different, but equally cynical voice answered. "This one can. It's, like, magic or something."  
"Cool!"  
"Quiet," the first voice whispered to the second one. "Kevin, you have exactly five seconds to tell us-I mean, ME-what the hell you want."  
"Oh! Sorr-eee. I just need a dust and broompan. I mean, um, a broom and-"  
"Here," both objects were immediately shoved at him. "Go away."  
"Okay. Thanks, closet!" The door closed. Kevin waved and went on his merry way.

"I like your style, weird girl," Sandi said appraisingly.  
"It's Daria. Now back to my plan. If you want to cure somebody, you treat the disease, not the symptoms."  
Sandi wrinkled her nose. "Ick."  
"For once in her life, Quinn is not the root cause of this problem. It's whoever convinced her she was a psychopath in the first place."  
The fashion magnate paused. She'd never thought about that before-but then again, Quinn was a simple girl, and would not think of something like this on her own. "And who was _that?"_  
"She didn't know his name, but she said he had a brain. Around here, I'd say that narrows it down pretty well."  
Sandi sighed. "You mean he is a brain. We all have brains, Daria. Some of us just aren't, like, miserable."  
Daria glared and swallowed any number of caustic remarks begging to be voiced. "Something like that. Now, if we sit down and make a list of all the 'brains' in the school, we might be able to-"  
Sandi was ignoring her, pulling out her notebook and scribbling one big name in it. She turned it around to show Daria.  
"...Ed the Head? The kid with the opaque glasses?"  
"And completely inappropriate pageboy haircut," Sandi added. "He's like the only kid who ever talks about this stuff. Before it got cool, anyway."  
"So we should talk to him first."  
"Daria, one does not simply talk to an unpopular person. One chooses their moment, and strikes."  
Daria rolled her eyes. "In that case, let's find one more predator first. It's always safer to hunt in packs, right?"

"Why do you need my help to interrogate Ed the Head?" Jane asked as the two girls coaxed her down the hall later that day. "I mean, I'm comfortable with many colors in the unpopularity spectrum, but that guy's just creepy."  
"Exactly. And with your support, we are all more likely to survive the experience. Now come on." Sandi said tersely.  
"She means 'will you help us, please'." Daria clarified.  
Jane softened a bit. "Well...I'll try it. But only if _you_ stop calling me 'weird suicidal art girl'."  
"Agreed, weird suici-I mean, Jane."

Ed 'The Head' Parker's short, scrawny body sat hunched over his laptop. He stared unceasingly with wide, bloodshot eyes (one of several reasons he needed the glasses), typing and clicking at a dizzying rate with about 12 Internet windows open at once-a daunting task at 2001 connection speeds. But as usual, he had a lot to say.  
Someone cleared their throat next to the table. Someone..._female._  
He looked up to see not one, not two, but three attractive girls staring at him.  
"Um..." the waif with glasses said.  
"Er..." the glamorous one added.  
"...Hey." the tall one finished.  
"Girls...talking to me!" Ed squeaked as he jumped up from the chair. "Oh, how I've dreamed of this..."  
The trio instinctively took a step back. In fact Daria took two steps, accidentally bumping into Jane.  
"Stay back, you squirrely freak. I've got enough pepper spray for all three of us." Sandi warned.  
Ed ignored her and focused on their leader. "Wait. I know you...Daria Morgendoppler, right?"  
"Morgendorffer," Daria corrected him. This kid acted like a geeky version of Mr. O'Neill. Then again, he was pretty much the only kid who paid attention in his classes...in other words, just the sort of person who would throw around ideas he couldn't begin to understand. It was all beginning to make sense. "By any chance, are you the one who told my sister she was a psychopath?"  
"Huh? Why, yes, I did. It's true. Well, of course, it's my opinion. How could it not be?"

Jane raised an eyebrow. "Funny you should ask..."  
Sandi raised the opposite eyebrow. "Because you're about to find out."  
"You didn't grow up with her," Daria said darkly. "Keeping in mind that I'm not defending her actions or her existence in any way, let me make this clear to you: my sister is NOT psychopathic. She's as far from antisocial as you can get, she's not smart enough to be that manipulative, and she does have feelings for other people, misguided as they are. I think it's best that you find her and take back what you said before the damage to our dysfunctional yet familiar status quo is irreversible."  
"And before I use my...various connections here to make your life very difficult." said Sandi.  
"And before I sculpt you into the latest exhibit in my Gallery of Pain." Jane finished ominously.  
Ed's gaze flicked between the three of them. "...You have a Gallery of Pain?"  
"I'll start one."  
Ed gave in. "Oh, very well. I admit it, I just wanted attention anyway. Not even Quinn's attention-yours, Daria. I knew that if I caused a great enough rift here at Lawndale, you would figure it out. And then you would come to me. I tried to approach you myself, but I just...couldn't. This might surprise you, but I'm not very good with people."  
"You're kidding!" Sandi exclaimed derisively.  
"So you were the manipulative one," Daria said.  
"I had to meet you somehow!" Ed whined.  
Daria was incredulous. "What could you possibly want from me to cause this much trouble?!"  
"Funny you should ask," an eerie smile spread over Ed's face. "Oh, yes...what, indeed? Heh heh heh heh...HA ha ha...AAAAAH HA HA HA HAAAA!" Thunder and lightning crashed outside over his mad laughter. The three girls braced themselves for whatever sick, twisted motive he was about to reveal. Slowly he reached into his backpack, and...

...Pulled out a recently issued 'diploma' from Mr. O'Neill's self-esteem workshop.  
"Your speech at that assembly was so inspirational," he said breathlessly with stars in his eyes. "Would you autograph this for me?"  
Not for the first time this week, Daria groaned.


	12. Stop the Madness

_**Stop the Madness**_

A guy with neck-length blonde hair and a calm appearance walked beside Daria as they left their last class. "Hey."  
"Go away," Daria said automatically.  
"Nice to see you too."  
"Dammit, Ronnie. Stop this cruel game and let me hate you already."  
"Sorry. You're gonna have to hang out with me first."  
"No."  
Ronnie didn't quit. "Come on. Hating me will be even more fun when you actually have something to go on."  
"No."  
"...I've got _Sick Sad World_ on DVD. Including the infamous first season that the network never aired again. You probably didn't see it."  
She frowned as they stopped at her locker.  
"Is that a yes?"  
"No. Number one, you tried to date my sister once. Two, you're only asking me out because I'm 'crazy' and that's what's in right now."  
He sighed. "Look, I can't deny the first one, but the second one isn't true. Promise."  
Daria surrendered and shut her locker. "Call me tonight. I'd rather get your hopes up before I shoot you down."  
"At least you're honest. Talk to you then." he winked and went on his way.

Sandi walked up moments later, a glimmer of jealousy in her eye. "Gee, _Daria._ Remind me again why you want to stop this trend? It's clearly paying off for you."  
Ed 'the Head' came around the corner to join them. "W-what does he have that I don't?!"  
Sandi smirked. "I could write an essay on that, Edward. Well, if I were a brain."  
"Shut up, both of you," Daria said. "Let's get over to my place and end this. I'm well over my quota for social interaction today."  
They met up with Jane at the front of the school and left, taking the long way so they wouldn't run into Quinn. Their whole plan depended on taking her by surprise.

Quinn hummed merrily as she unlocked the front door and strolled into the house. With Mom and Dad gone late today, this was the perfect time to call an impromptu Fashion Club meeting! Especially since she hadn't seen much of Sandi today. There would be plenty to catch up on.  
She tossed her bag on the couch and whipped out her cell phone, texting at a feverish rate and reaching out for a light switch with the other hand. She couldn't seem to find it...  
"Don't bother, Quinn," a rich, uppity voice said melodramatically. "We can shed some light on you ourselves."

She spun around to see four figures standing ominously between her and the door. Her sister, her sister's best friend, her own best friend, and that guy who told her she was psychopathic-all standing in the same place, at the same time. What was going on?  
"Hello, Quinn," said Daria. "I suppose you're wondering why we're here. We're here to stop the madness. Or should I say, the lack of self-esteem posing as madness."  
Sandi nodded and crossed her arms. "Quinn, dear. I've spoken to Stacy and Tiffany, and the Fashion Club's feelings are very clear on this. We've already gotten out of the Community Involvement Project, so let us move on to the next trend, shall we? I would hate for this whole thing to get old. Like your outfit, for instance."  
"Oh, _Sandi,"_ Quinn giggled behind her hand. "You're so funny! You really think I was doing all this for you?"  
Sandi faltered. "Um...well...I hoped that-"  
"That's just like you. And Daria and Jane, that's just like YOU. Thinking anything that cuts into your TV time is evil and wrong. Well, I'm sorry if my incurable condition is such an inconvenience, but I can't stop being mental just because you guys tell me to. Besides, I look so cute doing it!"  
Daria ground her teeth. _"You're not mental."_  
"Look, Quinn," Jane interjected. "This is Ed the Head. He's the one who told you you were nutso in the first place. And even he knows it's not true."

For the first time, Quinn hesitated. "He...he does?"  
"Sure! He'll tell you himself. Go on, Ed." Though reluctant to touch him, Jane nudged him forward with one foot.  
The geek stumbled, looking slightly flustered under the beauty's surprisingly intense gaze. "Er...um...well, that is..."  
"Are you _sure_ I'm not crazy, Ed?" Quinn took a step forward. "You're a brain, right? Maybe you just haven't..._thought_ about it hard enough."  
Daria, Jane and Sandi's jaws collectively hit the floor. They knew of Quinn's feminine wiles, but seeing her use them like this on a socially unacceptable beanpole like Ed was something else.  
Daria was doing some hard thinking of her own. Why was keeping up this illusion so important to Quinn? She assumed it was all about getting extra attention and feeling special. Now even she wasn't certain anymore.  
Ed the Head looked even less so. The most beautiful girl in school...less than five feet away. Who could think? His heart was pounding so hard, he thought she might see it under his shirt just like in cartoons. Except this wasn't a cartoon, this was real, and...  
His teeth chattered as he attempted speech. "W-well, th-that is, I, I, I...suppose one c-can't be one hundred percent SURE of anything..."  
"What are you talking about, you little geek?!" Sandi protested. "Like, you already know the truth. Just tell her already!"

"That's so mean, Sandi," Quinn touched his arm lightly with her fingertips, at which point he seemed to lapse into semi-catatonia. "See, Ed? I might be a psychopath, but at least I'm nice to you, right?"  
Ed nodded like a drinking-bird toy.  
"Come on! Let's do a psychosomatic appointment or whatever, and I can tell you all about how crazy I am."  
Ed followed her mindlessly out of the house. Moments later they heard his new Vexxer racing down the street.  
"I knew we shouldn't have let him give us a ride," Jane said.  
Daria shrugged. "How was I supposed to know his parents were rich?"  
_"She_ could have mentioned it," Jane cast a hard look at Sandi."If she was going to bother with this in the first place."  
The fashion vixen glared back. "Excuse me? Are you saying this is my fault?"  
"Wake up, guys! Would any of this have happened if we just left well enough alone?"  
Daria's face went slightly red. "Jane. My sister thinks she has a mental disorder and she doesn't. You call that 'well enough alone'?"  
"Really, Jane," Sandi said coldly. "As the people closest to her, we have to tell her that-"  
"Why do you always have to tell her what she is?" Jane threw up her hands. "Every time you try that, things get worse! If you really want to end this, how about _listening_ to her?!" She looked from one to the other as silence filled the living room. "...Whatever. I'm going home, Daria."  
She closed the door behind her. They heard her footsteps quicken as she took the chance for an afternoon run.


End file.
